Page 55 of Missing Pieces (Brantley Walker: Off the Books #12)

Atticus stood back and stared at one of the electronic boards they’d relocated to the conference room.

It’d taken almost two hours for them to get everything they needed transferred in with help from the team.

Not that they’d required a whole lot. Two case boards, their laptops, a couple of notepads, some pens, their desk chairs—because they were more comfortable—and chargers for phones and computers.

Becs had assisted in ensuring they had all the files allocated to this particular case, rearranging per his request so that they made more sense. At the moment, there were a dozen folders on the screen, all containing bits and pieces of information that were supposed to lead them to answers.

Atticus feared they had a long road ahead of them.

“Where do we start?” he asked his partner when Archer got to his feet and walked around the table to join him.

“I think a timeline is key,” Archer answered, staring at the screen. “And let’s identify the key players. We know we’ve got a couple of FBI agents, plus now there’s Decker. If we can start from the beginning and work forward, we’ll know what questions to start asking.”

“Works for me.”

With that, they started going through the data, rearranging even more as they went along.

Their starting point was with Meredith Prescott and Decker Bromwell in 1998.

Atticus wasn’t sure how, but Luca had managed to find some of the incriminating photos that were in the FBI’s clutches.

As soon as Atticus realized what they were, he made a mental note to never open that file again.

In 2003, the FBI opened a RICO case, looking to take down the Southern Boy Mafia. Archer had noted who the agents assigned to the case were, as well as some details that, again, Luca had uncovered.

As for Meredith Prescott supposedly witnessing Max Adorite kill a man in August of 2004, the only thing they had to go on was Decker’s statement and the newspaper article that had been published about it.

Oddly enough, the article hadn’t been published by a reputable newspaper such as the Dallas Morning News or the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, or even in the Dallas Observer.

That made the information suspect in Atticus’s mind, which he figured was what prompted Holt to lean toward conspiracy.

In 2005, Meredith Prescott walked away from her life, leaving her children and husband behind.

JJ had found a list of credit cards and bank accounts she had at the time and noted that a withdrawal of $10,000 was made just before she left, which made sense because none of the credit cards were ever used after that point. She clearly wanted to be off the grid.

Atticus noticed that as they worked, more data was coming in from Luca and JJ. They seemed to be following the same timeline, confirming the information and providing detailed backup.

The following ten years were pretty scarce on data, but in July 2015, Samuel Adorite, the head of the Southern Boy Mafia, was killed.

There was some information speculating that Max killed his father to take over, and spottier information that claimed Samuel’s wife, Genevieve, killed him.

At that time, Maximillian Adorite stepped in as the acting boss of the Adorite Crime Family.

While they outlined, Archer started adding questions on the second board. Atticus skimmed over them, thinking of his own. When he had one, he asked so that Archer would add it to the list.

By the time they reached 2018, when notes from Luca stated that Meredith Prescott was suspected of living in Massachusetts, it was after five.

Taking a break, Atticus walked out of the conference room to find that everyone else had left for the day. He figured Luca had to be working from home since he was still pushing data their way.

After a quick trip to the restroom and a pass back through the kitchen to get two bottles of water, Atticus made his way back to the conference room, leaving the door open since they had the barn to themselves.

“You game to push through?” Atticus asked, setting one of the water bottles in front of Archer, who was sitting at the table, typing on his computer.

“Absolutely.” He looked up. “What time is it?”

“About that time,” Atticus joked. “A little after five.”

Archer stretched his arms over his head, then cracked his neck. “Why don’t we order dinner?”

“I’m game,” he told him, pulling out his phone.

“I’ve got it,” Archer said. “What sounds good?”

“Anything.” And that much was true. He was starving. After the day they’d had … hell, after the past few days, Atticus felt like he was running on empty. The thought of sitting down and hashing out some of this case work sounded about perfect.

They agreed on Chinese, which Archer ordered through one of the food delivery apps. While they waited, they walked through the timeline again, discussing what little bit of information they had.

“I’m tellin’ you, if I never see pictures of two people naked again, it’ll be too soon,” Atticus said, shuddering at the thought of the images of a teenage Decker and his teacher.

Archer laughed. “I’m with you there. But now there’s proof that it happened.”

“I would’ve gladly taken Decker’s word for it,” Atticus said with a laugh.

Someone cleared their throat from behind him. Atticus turned to see Slade standing in the doorway, glaring at them.

“Hey. I thought you left for the day,” he told Slade, stepping away from the case board.

“We’re supposed to be at my parents’ house havin’ dinner,” Slade said, his tone harsh.

“Shit.” Atticus set his water bottle on the table. “Sorry, man. I totally forgot.”

“Forgot? Or just didn’t give a shit?” Slade accused, his gaze shifting to Archer. “Too busy laughin’ it up with him?”

“Don’t be like that,” Atticus said, his good mood turning sour quickly.

“Be like what?” Slade snapped.

Before he could embarrass him more, Atticus pushed Slade back, out of the conference room. “Outside. Now.”

“What? You don’t want him to hear that—”

Atticus cut him off with another shove toward the door.

“Seriously, Slade? This is where we work.”

“Where we’re supposed to work,” Slade argued. “Looks to me like—”

“The fuck it does,” Atticus bit out, cutting him off. “You’ve got to stop this shit. You know good and damn well that I’m workin’. Nothin’ else. Archer is my partner.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t be,” Slade said, eyes narrowed. “Maybe you should ask Reese to reassign you.”

Atticus flinched back, surprised. “What?”

“Ask Reese to reassign you,” Slade repeated.

“What the fuck for?”

“Let Archer work with Evan. You can partner with me.”

“Slade, be serious.”

“What? You don’t want to partner with me?”

“No, I don’t,” he told him.

If he’d slapped Slade across the face, he probably wouldn’t have looked as pained as he did right then.

Figuring it was a good time to explain, Atticus toned down his anger and took a step closer. “Look. We live together and work together. I think it’s safe to say that partnering would be pushin’ it a bit.”

“Brantley and Reese do it, why can’t we?” Slade countered.

While Atticus didn’t agree that the partner thing worked like that all the time, he couldn’t argue because Slade had a point.

“It obviously works for some people. But not everyone. And I happen to like comin’ home and listening to you talk about your day. If we were partners, I wouldn’t get that.”

Slade’s eyebrows unknotted, his expression losing some of the harsh lines. “For real?”

“Yes.” Atticus took a breath, let it out, grateful they’d avoided a nuclear meltdown.

“Do you mean that?”

Atticus wished he knew what set Slade down this path of intense insecurity. Someone had done a number on him at some point.

“Of course I do.”

At least he wanted to. At the moment, Atticus was having serious doubts about where this was going.

He thought Slade was on the same page with the casual thing.

He’d said he was. But here, now… That little explosion said otherwise.

He wished he could say this was out of character for Slade, but the guy was prone to intense highs and devastating lows.

And the jealousy … it seemed to manifest, growing in intensity with each encounter.

Taking a deep breath, Atticus stood tall. “I’m sorry about dinner. I honestly forgot.”

“I get it. We can head over there now.”

Atticus glanced back at the barn. “I can’t. Archer and I need to keep pushing on this. Brantley’s waiting for a timeline. We’re making real progress.”

“I’ll help.”

“Not yet,” he said, realizing he’d said it too quickly. “And it has nothin’ to do with Archer. Brantley wants us fully focused, and while I appreciate your offer, it would be … too distracting.”

Yeah, he might’ve tacked on a little glimmer in those words.

Slade’s gaze perused his face. “Distracting how?”

“If I have to spell it out for you, then maybe you weren’t there last night.”

That worked. A spark of heat flashed in Slade’s eyes.

“Oh, I was there all right.”

Atticus couldn’t deny that thinking about it was all it took to cause his cock to twitch and swell. Last night had been incredible.

“Maybe we’ll get to round two when I get home,” Atticus offered.

Slade nodded, more of the tension easing from his shoulder. “All right.” He looked down. “I’ll tell my folks you got hung up with work.”

“Raincheck, for sure.”

Slade took a step back. “Yeah.”

“I’ll see you when I get home,” Atticus told him.

“Okay.” He started to turn, then turned back. “I’m gonna go to the homecoming game. My mother’ll want to be there. Plus, my cousin told me the statue will turn up before the game. I want to make sure it does.”

Atticus exhaled his relief. “That’s fantastic. A prank?”

“That’s what he claims.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it when I get home.”